


Jealous

by AmandaCritelliWestphal



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Background Tater/Snowy if you tilt your head and squint, Jack learns something about himself, Kink Discovery, M/M, Under-negotiated Kink, but just at first, slightly risky oral sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-03 09:02:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8706127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmandaCritelliWestphal/pseuds/AmandaCritelliWestphal
Summary: “Well,” Bitty began, catching Kent's eyes and maintaining contact, “Jack is, generally, kind of a jealous guy.”Jack's arm slid off the back of the couch and around Kent's shoulders as Bitty continued.“And we've had a lot of fun exploring what happens when he gets jealous. He isn't jealous right now, though. He's feeling pretty generous tonight, in fact.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [PBJ_EpiFest_2016](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/PBJ_EpiFest_2016) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
> Song/Artist: Jealous / Nick Jonas  
> Prompt Details: No one knows that Jack and Bitty are dating, which means that Bitty gets hit on all the time; Jack can't help but feel a little jealous. When Jack and Kent reconnect and Kent comes to visit, he hits on Bitty too.  
> Additional Info: Jack: God fucking dammit.
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks to @imamaryanne for betaing this and to @emmagrant01 for making sure the sex wasn't ridiculous sounding and to @scullyseviltwin for making sure I had the French correct.

If pressed, Bitty could pinpoint the exact moment this all started. He had no idea it would lead him to this place, though; of course, after last night he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t do a single thing differently.

It started at the Haus Halloween party, 2015. Jack only had an optional skate the next day, but was leery of the attention and really just not wanting to deal with the crowd of people, so despite Bitty’s best efforts, he declined a visit. 

“I could skip it? I mean, if you have a whole day off, I can just skip the party and be on that train a half hour after I finish my last class. I could even leave earlier, and just skip class altogether!”

Jack sighed, but the amusement on his face was clear, even through the video call.

“I don’t want you to skip out on team events, Bits. And I really, really don’t want you to skip your lecture. Remember last time? ‘Oh Jack, we can just go over the material at your place, I’ll bring my flashcards again!’ I’m still finding flashcards wedged under the sofa.”

Eric pouted, and, giving Jack his best attempt at a smolder, replied “I learned some new words that trip.”

Jack laughed.

“Yes, _mon lapin_ , but nothing you can use in class unless you want Madame Benoit to have a stroke. Go to class. Go to the party, have fun. We’ll see each other soon.”

“Not soon enough,” Bitty grumbled, “but alright. Now, tell me how you like the jam sampler I left.”

 

Bitty adjusted his costume one last time in the mirror, eyeing the back critically. It was fine while he was standing, but every time he bent over, the legs of his boxer briefs showed, no matter how much he tugged. 

“Bitty! The oven timer says three minutes left!” Chowder shouted up the stairs.

“Thank you, sugar!” he shouted back down, reaching a quick decision. He pulled his costume off, wiggled out of his underwear, then yanked the costume back on before dashing down to the kitchen. It really wouldn’t do to burn party cookies, even if the people eating them would be too drunk to care.

Three hours later, Bitty was the one too drunk to care. He’d spent the first hour nursing one cup of Tub Juice-and really, God bless Shitty for leaving Lardo the recipe carved into the back wall of his former closet. He’d hung back a bit, not even really dancing all that much. Of course, Ransom and Holster noticed, and immediately intervened.

“Itsy Bittle! You are not having nearly enough fun right now for someone in such a costume. Like. I can’t even with your costume, my friend. That’s brilliant,” Holster exclaimed, slinging his arm around Bitty’s shoulder from the left.

“Seriously, bro. I think your ass owes me a debt of gratitude for the Better Bitty Booty Bureau. Like, your literal ass. How many squats a day are you even up to now?” asked Ransom, similarly draped over Bitty on his right side.

“More than you,” chirped Bitty, taking a sip from his cup. “Guess I’m really just not feeling it tonight.”

They shared a look over Bitty’s head.

“Eric Richard Bittle. As your captains, in this, our last Halloween party of our college lives, we need you to step it the fuck up. Beyonce is playing. There are no less than eight dudes here who have checked you out. And your back is up against the wall like checking practice, bro,” Holster said, surprisingly gently. “Is something wrong?”

Bitty sighed and emptied his cup. He really couldn’t just stand there and mope because Jack wasn’t there. It’s not like Jack could even do anything with him if he was there, anyway.

“You’re right, Holster. Nothing is wrong, I’m just having trouble shaking this mood off. Come on. Go get me another drink and let’s get the music turned up.”

Ransom and Holster high-fived and Holster ran off, only to come back almost immediately holding a shot and a beer. 

“No more tub juice, you want to be inebriated, not puke your stomach lining up. Let’s go make some fun choices.”

Bitty knocked the shot back and swore when his eyes bugged out. He chased the taste of Everclear out of his mouth with the beer, adjusted his bunny ears, looked up at his friends and said, “Let’s go.”

 

In Providence, Jack’s phone started buzzing. Nursey was posting pictures from the party to the group chat, and Jack’s tongue suddenly felt too large for his mouth. Bitty, in the shortest bunny costume Jack had ever seen outside of old photos of his dad with actual Playboy bunnies, was dancing in the middle of the living room. He was dancing with Ransom; which, whatever, Jack was aware that his boyfriend liked to dance. But it was evident from a few faces in the background that there were other people who liked watching his boyfriend dance. Another photo; Ransom gone, and Bitty was laughing at some guy standing next to him, his arm around his own middle as he bent forward a bit. One of Bitty looking up, one long floppy ear twirled in his fingers, looking full of mischief, another of him dancing with Random Guy, way too close for Jack’s comfort. Finally, one from Lardo of Holster, holding Bitty bridal-style, left hand curled around Bitty’s lower thigh while Bitty wrapped his arms around Holster’s neck and shoulder, one leg on its way to kicking out straight, with those ridiculous white knee socks. Bitty, looking at the camera but something uncertain about his gaze, a smile on his face but a little tilt of his eyebrow, like he didn’t mind what he was doing but wasn’t sure he wanted a picture of it, either. Jack trusted Bitty; trusted him implicitly. But he recognized the looks on the faces of some of those people in the pictures. It was pretty easy to see want written all over faces when it was like looking in a mirror. 

Jack typed out a single response: Haha. Nice. And then he was grabbing his jacket and hat and car keys, and he was out the door. 

Forty minutes later, Jack entered the Haus, party still in full swing. Luckily, most people there were drunk enough to not look closely at the face under the brim of his ballcap. He made his way into the kitchen and tripped over the threshold. Bitty was bent over rummaging in the refrigerator, searching for something on the bottom shelf. The hem of his costume barely covered the bottom curve of his butt, and Jack got hard so quickly he felt light-headed.

“Holy fuck,” he breathed, sitting down hard at the kitchen table. Bitty straightened up quickly at the sound, a bottle of hard cider dangling from his fingertips.

“Jack, you came!” he exclaimed. Jack flinched at the volume of the announcement, and Bitty immediately lowered his voice. “I didn’t think you were going to. I’m so glad you’re here, it wasn’t much fun without you.”

“You looked like you were having fun. Nurse and Lardo posted pictures,” Jack grumbled, putting his hands on the table to keep himself from reaching for his boyfriend. 

Bitty leveled a flat look at Jack in response to his tone of voice. 

“Yes, well, I remember a certain someone telling me not to skip team events, to go and have fun. I mean, it took quite a bit of drinkin’ to get me to, but I managed. Wasn’t that the point?”

Jack looked down. “I know. I know I told you to. I guess I just wasn’t prepared to see what that meant. I mean, _Crisse_ , you have to know how you look.”

“How I look? I look great, Jack Zimmermann,” Bitty retorted, the remnants of his buzz evaporating with irritation. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m pleased as punch that you’re here. But I don’t get why seeing me in my costume made you drive an hour here when me letting you know how much I wanted to see you wasn’t enough.”

Jack’s eyebrows furrowed and his mouth tilted down. Bitty had a point; he’d repeatedly stated he didn’t want to deal with the fuss of the party and encouraged Bitty to stay, even though it meant sacrificing time together. All for him to show up anyway, because he couldn’t handle the consequences of his choices. He was simultaneously irritated with himself and still aroused.

Bitty studied Jack’s face and sat down, turning his body towards Jack. 

“Talk to me, hon. I can’t read your mind, remember?”

Jack took a deep breath. “You’re right. I told you to go ahead and stay and have fun. But those pictures, Bits. You look amazing, and the way other people were looking at you...I wasn’t okay with it, and I should have been, but instead I got in my car and came here. Because you’re dressed like a literal puck bunny, and that living room is full of people who would relish the opportunity to strip you out of that costume. And they don’t have any reason to know they don’t have a chance because you can’t tell them you have a boyfriend who turns out to be kind of a territorial jackass. And Christ, Bitty, I want you so much,” Jack finished, desperately. 

Bitty stared, wide-eyed, and took in Jack. Color high in his cheeks, eyes dark and darting over every inch of Bitty they could find. Time to turn this evening around, he decided.

“Without my puck, I’m just a bunny, you know.”

“What?”

“I was going to carry a puck around. You know, to complete the outfit. But I had cookies in the oven and I had to rush.” Bitty smiled at Jack, encouraging him to get with the program.

“...do I want to know where the puck is?” he asked, a smile coming back to his face.

“I’m fairly certain I left it up on my bed. Why don’t you come up and help me find it?”

Jack’s face lit up like Christmas, and they quietly snuck up the stairs and into Bitty’s bedroom.

 

Once inside, Bitty turned and locked the door. Before he could turn back around, Jack had him pressed up against it, pulling the hood of his costume down to get at the back of his neck. Bitty tried to turn around, but Jack mumbled “no” and, putting his hands on Bitty’s hips, held him still. For a moment he just stood there, taking in the sight of Bitty from behind. The bodysuit clung to his shoulders and back, leading down to the ridiculous and disturbingly sexy puffed tail right over Bitty’s pert ass. Jack buried his face in the back of Bitty’s neck; felt him tremble as he moved his lips to mouth at the jointure of neck and shoulder. Bitty let out a low moan and covered Jack’s hands with his own as he rested his forehead against the door. Jack worried the flesh between his teeth, sucking and nipping before dragging his lips back up behind Bitty’s ear.

“Jesus, Bitty,” he intoned lowly, hands working up to the zipper front of the bunny costume. “Do you have any idea how many people were staring at you tonight? How many of them wish that they could be the ones up here right now, touching you?”

Jack slid the zipper down slowly, taking his time as he continued to mark Bitty up, getting it to the bottom as he bit down on Bitty’s earlobe. He paused just a moment to fumble his own pants open and push them down, sending his boxers along with them. He returned his hands greedily to Bitty’s body and, sliding his hand inside the costume, moaned when his hand met nothing but skin. He quickly shoved the costume down past Bitty’s hips.

“Oh fuck, Bits,” Jack said, before biting down on his skin again. “Where the fuck are your underwear, Jesus you’ve been naked under that costume all night,” he babbled, hips jerking forward of their own volition to rub himself against Bitty.

Bitty’s arms flew up to brace himself where he was still pressed against the door, pushing his ass backwards even as he whimpered,

“They ruined the lines of my outfit.”

Jack chuckled, low in his throat. “Such a damn tease, Bittle. Down there dancing and bending over and being on display for the whole damn campus, nothing on under this tiny fucking costume.” He quickly licked his hand before wrapping it around Bitty’s cock, already leaking precome, and began to work him over, all the while grinding his dick against Bitty.

Bitty moaned even louder before stifling himself, pressing his mouth to his own arm.

“Who was it for, Bits,” Jack gasped, still sucking and biting marks into Bitty’s neck and shoulder. “Christ, say it, Bits, say it.”

“You!” Bitty moaned, the combination of Jack’s hand and Jack’s mouth and Jack’s words quickly bringing him close to the edge. “It’s always for you, wanted you to be here so bad, wanted you to see me, oh lord, Jack,” he cried out, semen streaking out, striping the door.

Jack hauled him upright against his chest and stroked him through it, chasing his own orgasm against the cleft of Bitty’s ass, dripping down into the pile of fabric still pooled around Bitty’s ankles. He sank to the floor, pulling Bitty with him and holding him tightly, kicking the pile of their mingled clothing away from their legs. 

After a few minutes of shell-shocked silence, Bitty began to giggle in Jack’s arms.

“My lord, sweetheart. I’m not complaining at all, but what on earth was that?” Bitty asked, cheeks still flushed, but now also tinged with embarrassment. 

Jack shifted Bitty in his lap a bit so he could see his face.  
“Was it too much? Are you okay with what we did?” Jack asked, worriedly looking at Bitty’s face.

“I feel like my brain leaked out my ears, it was wonderful. Just, y’know, different than how we usually do things. Not that I don’t love what we do,” he hurried to assure Jack. “But up against my door, like you couldn’t even wait to get to the bed.”

Usually, their activities involved a bed, or Jack’s couch, and it was all quiet moments and whispered endearments and the kind of tenderness that made Bittle wonder at how he ever managed to get so lucky; to have a beautiful kind-hearted man so utterly in love with him. 

Jack looked a bit sheepish, and tried to figure out how to explain the urgency, the desperation he felt for Bitty.

“I just...I wanted you. So badly, Bits, it was like an emergency. I don’t know how to explain this,” he muttered, trailing his fingers over the marks scattered across Bitty’s neck and deltoids. “I know we can’t let everyone know. And I know it’s possessive and Shitty probably has an entire lecture series about this kind of thing. But it felt really important while I was doing it. People won’t know we’re together specifically, but they’ll know you aren’t available.”

Bitty hummed an assent. “I get it, Jack. I really do. And make no mistake, this was hotter’n blazes. I liked this a lot. And I’m not opposed to this happening again. Without the lack of communication though, maybe? It was a hell of a turn on knowing you want me that much. I guess I’m just wondering how on earth I’m going to explain how I managed to hook up with a vampire in the twenty-five minutes Ransom and Holster let me out of their sight.”

Jack cleared his throat. “I, uh, actually? I was thinking? That I want to let them know. Not everyone, but Rans and Holster, and Lardo. And Shitty, too. We can trust them, and it’ll make it easier to visit you and for you to visit me if we don’t have to keep making up excuses and sneaking around. I feel badly about lying to them, even by omission. How do you feel about that?”

Bitty looked at Jack, his face unreadable. 

“It makes me nervous,” he finally admitted. “I’m worried the more people who know the more likely you are to get outed, and I’m so scared of being a liability, Jack. You’ve worked so hard, you’ve poured so much of yourself into getting where you are right now. And I can’t be the reason you lose it. Because if you get outed because of me, if things go badly because of it, you’ll resent me and I don’t think I could stand it.”

Jack held Bitty close, his throat tight and his breath heavy as Bitty somehow curled up even smaller in his arms.

“I love you,” Jack said, finally. “I love you so much. And I can’t promise that being out wouldn’t make my job harder. But you have to know, Bits. You have to know that if it came down to being with you and facing down the NHL together or being without you and living quietly, I choose you. Every time, I choose you. We can figure out a way to make this work without lying to everyone.”

Bitty buried his face in Jack’s neck, tears on his cheeks. 

“Okay,” Bitty whispered. “Okay, yes.”

 

For all his nerves about it, coming out the team was surprisingly simple. Bitty was down in the kitchen the next morning, getting coffee started and pulling down a mixing bowl and some ingredients so he could start making some breakfast. Holster walked in, rubbing his jaw and stretching his neck.

“Hey Bitty. You feeling better? Don’t pretend you didn’t disappear last night the minute you could get away with it. Thought we were done with that kind of thing when Jack graduated.”

Bitty flushed lightly, hand coming up to scratch at the back of his neck. Unfortunately, not only did that move the collar of his t-shirt and expose one of the lovebites, reaching up also raised the hem just enough to show a few of the fingertip bruises Jack had left on his hips, just above the waistband of his shorts. 

Holster’s eyes grew wide. “Bro. Deets. DEETS! RANSOM! Get down here!” He sat down at the table, resting his chin on his hands and looking at Bitty expectantly, excitement pouring off of him. 

Ransom thundered down the stairs, toothbrush in hand, foam all around his mouth.

“What is it, Holtzy, what’s going on?!” he asked, looking for obvious injuries or damage anywhere.

“Ransom my friend, look at our small southern winger.”

Ransom rolled his eyes, spit and rinsed at the kitchen sink, then turned his gaze to Bitty, blushing furiously and avoiding eye contact.

“Broooooo.” Ransom took a seat next to Holster. “Really?”

“Really what?” Lardo asked, walking in. Bitty was ready for the floor to swallow him, and where the HELL was Jack Zimmermann, making him face this alone. Oh, yeah. Jack was upstairs, in Bitty’s own bed. 

Bitty couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face at the thought.

“Oh holy shit, really?” Lardo reached out a hand to fistbump Bitty. “Alright, dude.”

“Sit down, Lards, we don’t have deets yet,” Ransom said. “But could you grab that pot of coffee before you do?”

“Yeah,” Holster echoed. “No deets yet. Or pancakes? Can we have deets AND pancakes? Captains’ Rule, deets and pancakes.”

Bitty shook his head in fond exasperation. 

“Only because I was already planning on making them. Let me concentrate on this for a few, okay? You’ll get your deets,” he said trying to buy some time. 

A pot of coffee and a growing stack of golden pancakes later, the trio at the table were getting antsy. Bitty swatted Holster with the flipper when he attempted to make his plate up, demanding they wait until all the pancakes were done. 

“Come ON, Bitty. Just a hint. What was he dressed as? Was it that guy you were dancing with? What color was his hair?” Ransom asked, scrolling through the groupchat photos, looking for the mystery man. 

“Oh for goodness sake. Fine, his hair is black. He wasn’t wearing a costume,” Bitty answered, silently cursing the fact that this day, of all days, Jack Zimmermann decided to sleep late.

“Ugh, all these guys with black hair in these photos are in costume. When did you even meet this guy?”

Bitty smirked and answered, “Two years ago.”

Holster’s head flew up. “Oh for crying out loud, Bitty, that could be ANYONE then!” 

“Mmm-hmm,” Bitty said, spooning the last four pancakes onto the griddle.

Lardo just stared at him, studying his face like she could get the answer straight from his brain.  
He stared right back, and with a smug smile said, “Anyone indeed.”

Lardo sat straight up in her chair, eyes wide. 

“Oh. Holy. Shit.”

Holster and Ransom immediately turned toward her, loudly insisting she tell them what she knew, but she only nodded at Bitty, and then started laughing. And laughing, and then she had actual tears rolling down her cheeks, and Bitty was starting to feel a little miffed.

“It ain’t funny, Lardo! This is kind of a big deal, you know!”

“I’m sorry! I know! I just had an idea of like, making you a trophy for this or something, because this definitely deserves an award of SOME sort!”

With all the ruckus, Ransom and Holster missed Jack coming into the kitchen to stand directly behind Bitty.

“Good morning,” he said, placing an arm around Bitty’s waist as he leaned above him to reach a mug down from the cabinet. “Pancakes smell great. Is Lardo dying?”

Bitty took a deep breath, then turned into Jack’s chest and stretched up to press a kiss to the bottom of his jaw.

“Not dying, just inspired. The three of them there have been begging to know where I disappeared to last night and what I got up to and who I was with, though.”

“Oh, well that’s easy enough to answer,” Jack answered, bending down and kissing Bitty sweetly before moving to set the platter of pancakes down on the table. “As long as they know that the answer doesn’t leave the Haus.”

Lardo wiped her cheeks, before clapping, just briefly, and nodding her head as she went upstairs, double-fisting pancakes and muttering about gold spray paint and a miniature copy of the Statue of David.

Ransom and Holster were stock-still in their seats, even as Bitty and Jack sat down and began fixing their pancakes.

“Yoooooo,” Holster exhaled, quieter than Bitty had ever heard him before.

“Alright, boys?” Bitty asked, reaching for the syrup.

They nodded, in unison, and that seemed to creep them out enough to reset their brains. 

They all ate quietly for a few minutes before Jack spoke up.

“We weren’t joking about it not leaving the Haus. I trust you; you know what’s at stake here. It won’t be forever, but until we make this public, we need to know that you won’t blow our cover.”

“We wouldn’t,” Holster assured Jack, appreciating the gravity of the situation. 

“Also, stop trying to get Bittle laid. He’s done fine for himself, don’t you think?” Jack quirked up an eyebrow.

“Damn fine job,” Ransom nodded. “Good work, Bitty.”

Holster cracked into laughter. “Oh my god though,” he gasped, “the logistics. I don’t want deets, this is just purely scientific now. You’re like 7 inches shorter than Jack.”

Bitty and Jack both flushed and looked down at their pancakes, while Ransom looked over at Holster.

“No, dude. No.”

 

And so it went. Bitty and Jack Skyped Shitty later that afternoon, and he cried, smacking loud kisses to the webcam before apologizing for being a “heteronormative grundlepunch” for assuming Jack was hiding a girlfriend and swearing himself to secrecy. And since he lived across the hall from Bitty, they also told Chowder, which really meant they had to tell Chowder, Dex, and Nursey. But it was good. They all kept their word and didn’t tell anyone, and Bitty came home from class one day to find a golden, bare-assed statue sporting a tiny replica of Jack’s jersey glued to a block of black painted wood, “Get It” written in silver paint. 

The Halloween party established a new pattern in their relationship, though. Bittle continued to flirt and dance at Haus parties, pictures popping up here and there via social media and the team groupchat. Jack no longer dropped everything to race to Bittle’s side, but their reunions after those parties held an edge to them, and Bittle would spend the next week hiding marks left by Jack's mouth and teeth and fingers under his clothes; a reminder of how much he was wanted, how gone for him Jack really was under his Canadian politeness.

That’s why, when Jack and Kent Parson began, tentatively, building a professional...something, Bitty didn’t freak out. Much. There really isn’t a word, Bitty decided, for two people who have been friends and lovers and enemies who now are, in a way, colleagues. But reporters ask them about each other often, and they are both courteous and, in the way competitive athletes can be, each only slightly begrudgingly admiring of the skill of the other. 

Bitty trusts Jack; not only his fidelity, but to know if being in contact with Parse is going to be a problem for him. He doesn’t always like it, but on the rare occasions Kent mentions Jack in a retweet or praises the way more and more new players have college degrees, he can see how Jack smiles; a small smile, but genuine. And he could never resent anything that made Jack smile.

Senior year brings its own challenges, but Jack’s team isn’t one of them. It started in late January with Tater. He adopted Jack as “his” rookie Jack’s first year, and didn’t seem keen on letting go of the concept. After a few surprise visits Jack’s rookie year, he’d been convinced that coming over unannounced was a line that Jack really didn’t like being crossed. And he’d been very good about calling first since then. But, he reasoned, that was last year. Surely they knew each other well enough that he could drop by with a pizza and check on his friend after a rough game without needing an invitation.

He was wrong.

If the muffled cursing and scrambling around-he was pretty sure at least one of those thumps was someone running into the coffee table and a door shutting-he heard after knocking were to be trusted, Jack was not alone.

Jack flung the door open after a few moments, hair mussed. 

“Tater! What are you doing here?”

“Come to see how you are doing,” Tater answered, peering over Jack’s shoulder for a glimpse of the ever-elusive girlfriend Jack always denied having. “I bring buffalo chicken pizza, let me in.”

With that, Tater walked right into Jack’s apartment, not waiting for Jack to invite him in. He didn’t see anyone else in the living room, but a small pair of blue shorts, half-shoved under a couch cushion and the smell of something baking confirmed his suspicions.

“Zimmboni! I finally meet your girl! Tell her how wonderful she cooks, embarrassing stories about you.”

Jack cringed. “Tater, I’ve told you, I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Tater shook his head, mournfully. “Been over a year, Jack. We are friends. Don’t need to hide love from me! I will not steal!”

“No, seriously, Tater,” Jack said, aggravatedly running a hand through his hair. “There’s no girl.”

“You bake?” Tater asked, mischief lighting his eyes. He snagged the shorts off the couch. “These too small for your giant ass, Zimmboni.” 

Jack sighed, then shook his head, knowing there was no way to avoid this any longer. 

“Bits!” Jack called down the hallway. “Come on out here. It’s okay, we’ll figure it out.”

The bedroom door opened slowly, and Tater watched as a young blond man hesitantly walked out to stand next to Jack.

“Bits, this is Alexei Mashkov. Tater, this is Eric Bittle. My boyfriend.”

Tater stood up quickly with a hand out, intending to shake. Bitty winced only slightly, but it was enough for Tater to notice. He changed his approach and pointed.

“You are baker, yes?” he questioned. “You bake so many good things. Zimmboni share sometimes, but he greedy, not share enough, get chunky.” Ignoring Jack’s look of offended betrayal, he continued. “Need Russian recipes, bake like my babushka. Then I get big butt like Zimmboni too.”

Bittle laughed and Jack looked embarrassed. Later, after eating half a loaf of the apple cinnamon bread that had been baking when he arrived, Tater looked over to Jack and said, slyly, “Could have just said no girlfriend.”

Jack sputtered indignantly and pointed out that he in fact HAD said he didn’t have a girlfriend. Multiple times. Just that week, in fact.

“Ah,” Tater countered, “but you don’t say ‘Oh Tater, I not have girlfriend, I have beautiful baking boyfriend who loves me and will feed you’. Is big difference. Do not mind, Zimmboni. You happy, you play good, score. Who cares why? Anyone have problem, I fix.”

“Just for that,” Bitty broke in, “I’m going to make you some cookies to take home.” He popped up and headed into the kitchen, giving Jack a Look and a slight tilt of the head toward Tater.

Tater looked curiously at Jack, who leaned forward with his forearms on his knees.

“Do you think the rest of the team will feel the same as you?” he asked, quietly. “We...I’m not ready to be out. Publicly. But I’d like to be able to tell the team. I’d like to not have to hide him.”

Tater took his time considering. “I’m not sure about all rookies. But Snowy, one hundred percent sure. The old guys, definitely. Poots, younger guys. They all okay. And if any new guys misbehave, we all take care of it. We are team. You are team.”

Jack nodded his head. “Keep it to yourself, for now?”

Tater looked at him, unimpressed. “Who I tell? Call mama, call babushka, say sorry, Zimmboni not run away with me, he is already taken. They not care about you, they like Snowy best.”

A choking sound came from the kitchen, echoed by the noise Jack made.

“Good to know, buddy. Okay.”

 

The Friday before Valentine’s Day, a few of the guys were discussing their plans after morning skate, generally bitching about picking up flowers or making reservations. Since it fell mid-week, Bittle was already on his way to Providence to spend all weekend with Jack; Saturday to themselves and staying Sunday for their evening game, before heading back to Samwell for class Monday afternoon.

Jack smiled at the thought of being so close to seeing Bitty. Tater noticed and elbowed him, but made no further comment. Thirdy noticed the interaction though, and jumped in, “What about you, Zimmermann? Got some romantic French shit planned for Tuesday?”

Jack took a breath and, with a small nod from Tater, seized the opening.

“No,” he said, looking up, first making eye contact with Thirdy and then swinging his gaze to the teammates close by. “My boyfriend has classes and practices, so we’re celebrating this weekend instead.”

It was quiet enough that Jack almost expected to hear crickets, and his heart sank as one of the rookies turned away, but not quickly enough to hide the look on his face. 

Guy broke the tension by slapping Jack on the shoulder, and said, good-naturedly,

“College boy like you, figures you’d pick a smart one. He from Samwell too?”

Jack smiled, shakily. 

“Yeah. We were on the same line together for almost two years. He’s still a first-line winger, he’s graduating in a couple months.”

“Well shit,” Poots laughed. “I always figured your personal life revolved around hockey. I was kind of right!”

Tater grinned and threw an arm around Jack’s shoulders.

“Little Bitty is best! Makes all those pies, cookies Zimmboni brings in. Very cute, too. I have to promise Zimmboni I not put in my pocket and steal away.”

Snowy looked up at that, irritation obvious for only a second before schooling his features.

“Wait, Tater has met your boy? Why did Tater get to meet him?” he demanded.

Jack flushed and pressed his lips together. Tater just laughed.

“I show up with pizza, thinking Zimmboni sad and alone after loss. I was wrong.”

“You were a cockblock is what you were,” Jack said, before he could stop himself. He cringed.

A chorus of laughter rose up, and Poots held his hand out for a high-five.

“Brutal,” Snowy wheezed, wiping his eyes. “Damn, Tater.”

“Should bring Bitty by after game tomorrow!” Tater exclaimed, turning back toward Jack. “Let team meet.”

“Tater just wants cookies,” Marty chimed in. “But seriously, bring your boy by. Unless you’re ashamed of us?”

It took everything Jack had to not sag in relief. Even with the one rookie turning away, no one seemed to be angry or freaked out or upset. He knew, logically, that his team had his back. It was comforting, though, to realize it extended beyond sixty minutes of ice time. 

“I'm definitely ashamed of you,” he finally said. “But yeah, I'll have him come down after.”

Having Bittle meet the team was possibly the best and worst idea ever. They liked him well enough; who wouldn't, Jack reflected, watching his teammates stifle laughter as his boyfriend gesticulated wildly, lecturing a man easily twice his size on the importance of using real unsalted butter for baking.

(“Heathen,” Bitty grumped to Jack later in the car. “He wasn't even using actual butter. You can't bake with that salty butter flavored oil garbage and expect good results!”)

But Bitty also provided them with chirping material for days. Bitty's face had been so warm and fond while talking about Spring C, but that had led to choruses of “Jack never gives US piggyback rides!” and “Carry me, bro!” and if Poots tried to actually climb onto Jack's back one more time, he was going to allow it just so he could dump his ass into the ice bath.

It was worth it though, because now that Bitty had graduated, Jack didn't have to lie about why he was suddenly acquiring a roommate. Well, to anyone on the team, at least. Publicly, if anyone asked, Jack was letting an old teammate move in while he got established enough in his job to afford his own place. It really wasn't newsworthy though; no one seemed to notice, and if they did, no one cared enough to ask. Jack and Bitty were happy; relaxed and content. Busy as all get-out, between Jack's practices and games and Bitty working for the Falconers’ media relations department officially; unofficially he was learning as much as he could from the team nutritionists in order to create a cookbook of easy to make recipes designed for athletes. A B.A in American Studies and Food Culture didn't lend itself to very many ready-made careers, and Bitty knew that starting from the very bottom in food service and working bakers hours would be the swiftest way to kill the joy he got from creating recipes and feeding people. 

Other than what went on inside their apartment, Jack and Bitty carried on much the same as usual. During team events that required Bittle’s presence, they were friendly but maintained distance. The team understood and played along, occasionally running interference if they noticed anyone paying too much attention or trying to hit on either Jack or Bitty. They had the best intentions, and Jack was definitely not willing to say, “hey, don't keep Bittle from flirting, it's kind of Our Thing.” The guys were great and everything, but Jack knew that he would never be able to live down the chirping he'd get if that particular facet of their relationship was known. 

Jack was playing well. He was happy, and generally at ease with himself. He even sat down after a game with Kent, a few months before Bitty graduated, to finally exchange apologies and try to start rebuilding a friendship. It was easier, now that they were somewhat equals. Jack told Kent about Bitty, about how he was moving in with Jack after graduation, about his baking and his idea for a cookbook for athletes. Kent was the one person, Jack told him, who he’d know would understand about keeping it quiet without having to ask. 

“It isn’t that we’re ashamed, or in the closet exactly,” Jack explained. “Our teams, our families know. It’s just the general public.” Kent just laughed and explained just how well he understood the concept of the glass closet, before congratulating Jack and whipping out his phone to follow Bittle on twitter.

Bittle had not been prepared to become friends with Kent Parson, had been ready to be salty forever based on what he’d overheard years before. Kent was persistent though, and won him over with cat pictures and memes and, in one glorious memorable moment, a retweet sent to Taylor Swift that resulted in her at-ing Bitty in response.

Months passed while Kent and Bitty sent links back and forth of concert recordings and choreography videos and a truly ridiculous amount of sass via emojis; Kent texted Jack pictures of Kit and his skates and rookies falling down at practice. Jack responded with links to books on training cats and how-to-skate tutorials and new protein shakes. 

Kent sent him a shirtless selfie from the gym the day after American Thanksgiving, sweaty and flushed, and Jack dropped his phone on the kitchen floor with a curse.

“Everything alright, hon?” Bitty asked, worriedly, scooping up the phone. “Oh!”

“It’s not what it looks like!” Jack exclaimed, still bright red. 

“It looks like Kent Parson half naked and wrecked on your phone,” Bitty teased with a snort, raising an eyebrow and sending a reply: “u look like the coverboy for Twunk Monthly lol-B”. 

“I don’t know why, though! He just sent it.”

Bitty set the phone down on the counter after another glance. He wasn’t dead, after all. 

“Jack, do you think I’m upset?” he asked, reaching over to hold his boyfriend’s hand. 

“He knows I’m with you, though.”

“Well, that isn’t what I asked, but okay. He knows we’re together. We’re even friendly now. So it isn’t like he’d be trying to sext you. So why would I be upset? It’s just a selfie. I mean, Shitty still climbs into bed half-naked with us to chat whenever he visits, and he may actually be more obsessed with your ass than I am.”

Jack laughed at that. 

“Listen,” Bitty continued. “Obviously it’s a little different given your history with Parse. And if it bothers you, tell him to knock it off. But shirtless and low-key flirting seems to be his normal, and if you aren’t uncomfortable, and I’m not uncomfortable, it’s nothing to get into a tizzy about.”

Bitty turned around toward the fridge, an idea forming in his head. Maybe not his best idea, or the smartest, but one that expressed itself seemingly without his permission.

“Just a selfie from a ridiculously hot friend,” he continued, bending down to grab the chicken from the bottom shelf, glancing back over his shoulder to, yup, find Jack’s eyes trained on his ass. Jack’s eyes snapped up to Bitty’s, a smirk forming. 

“Ridiculously hot, huh?”

“Why, Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty said, placing the chicken on the counter next to the broccoli. “Is that a note of jealousy I detect?”

They forgot to put the chicken back and ended up throwing it away several hours later.

 

“Bits, how would you feel about having some of the team over here next week for New Years? They keep hounding me about plans, but I’d rather stay in.”

Bitty stuck a pen into the cookbook he was looking in to mark his spot before twisting around.

“Well sure, that’d be fun. Who are you thinking?”

“Just the main guys, Tater, Snowy, the old guys, Poots. I figure the ones with kids probably won’t come.”

“That’d be fun, we haven’t really had a party here yet. Tater coming over begging like a junkyard dog once a week doesn’t really count as company.”

Bittle pulled up the calendar on his phone.

“Shitty and Lardo won’t be back from Florida until the fourth, so we don’t need to worry about them. Oh-” he broke off suddenly.

“Hmm?” Jack enquired.

“The Aces play in Boston early that afternoon.” He looked up at Jack, eyes wide and trying to look innocent. “Should we invite Kent?

“You are so much trouble. Why does anyone fall for that look? You’re the devil,” Jack laughed.

“Yeah,” he continued after a moment. “Let’s invite him.”

 

The party was going nicely; it was almost 9 and Kent hadn’t arrived yet, but the handful of Falconers there were having fun trying to eat everything in sight. Jack was conspicuously sticking to seltzer water, and Bitty was slowly working his way through a bottle of wine, thanking the sweet baby jesus that no one ever mentioned tub juice to Tater, who would have insisted on trying it. 

Bitty’s phone trilled a message alert and he fumbled his glass a bit trying to pull it out of his back pocket. 

“You’ll need a shoehorn to get that back in there, Bits,” Jack teased.

Bitty pursed his lips and answered with a “you like it” and swiped his screen. “Kent’s looking for parking now, he says he took a nap after the game and overslept.”

Jack looked across the living room over to where Tater, Snowy, and Poots were involved in an odd, drunken version of a pool tournament that somehow required Snowy to take a shot of the vodka Tater brought with him every time he missed his shot. On second look, it seemed more like Poots was just along for the ride while Tater and Snowy drank and made jokes about the 2 ball and gripping the cue.

He went over to open the door for Kent. They stood making awkward eye contact for a moment before Jack said “what the hell,” and pulled Kent in for a hug. Kent sagged against him before squeezing back tightly, briefly.

“Good to see you, Zimms,” Kent said, walking in. Tater popped his head up, eyes narrowing at Kent’s arrival.

Bitty noticed and quickly smoothed things over, explaining quietly that Kent was a friend and welcome, and, in an entirely not intimidating way, told Tater to behave himself before going over to greet Kent himself.

Kent fistbumped him, then went to help himself to some food while Bitty dragged Jack into the kitchen.

“Did you not tell your team that you and Kent and I are friendly? Tater was about to go into Russian Bear Mode, and I’m not keen on cleaning blood off the upholstery.”

Jack rubbed the back of his head, looking sheepish. 

“I...may have forgotten to mention it.”

“Lord, this means they don’t know that he knows about us either, huh? It’s alright. Outside of making it weird and awkward and announcing it, there’s nothing to do about it now.”

Bitty topped off his wine and went back out to their guests; one awkwardly eating crudites and the other three watching suspiciously. 

“Oh for…” Bitty muttered, and walked over to Kent, placing a hand on his arm and smiling at him.

“We’re glad you could make it! And congratulations on winning today; I was actually kind of surprised you could be here, I could have sworn I saw y’all were flying back directly after.”

Kent swallowed and nodded, putting his plate down.

“Yeah, the team flew back, but since we won and we’ve got three days until our next game, I may have gotten leave to fly back home tomorrow night instead. Tomorrow’s skate is optional, I won’t be missing anything.”

They chatted for a few minutes, leaning close over Kent’s phone at pictures of Kit, laughing over a video of her maintaining eye contact with the camera while knocking a glass off the coffee table.

Meanwhile, the three Falconers were Concerned. To them, especially to an inebriated Tater, it looked a lot like Kent Parson was flirting with their teammate’s boyfriend. They all knew how friendly Bitty was and, as Tater grumbled quietly, he was “too nice” to tell Parson to leave him alone.

So they agreed. They weren’t going to out Jack and Bitty, obviously, but they were going to make sure Kent Parson didn’t try anything untoward. Poots tried to interject (“If it was a problem, Jack would say something, he invited Parson”) but Tater and Snowy were just drunk enough to be convinced they knew what they were doing. 

So for the next nearly two hours, they kept an eye on Bitty and Jack and Parson, and every time Kent appeared to be flirting with Bitty, Tater would jump in with a story or a question or a reason to pull Bitty away.

It was driving Jack nuts. Part of him felt a little bad about involving Parse in his and Bitty’s Thing without his knowledge, but it wasn’t even like it was happening, because Tater kept jumping in and interrupting Bitty’s moves.

He gave up and went into the kitchen for another drink, where Poots was calmly sipping a glass of water. He watched while Jack got down his own glass and they stood there, leaning against the counter quietly, until Poots tilted his head toward Jack.

“Parson, huh?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

Jack snorted. “Lots of history. We’re friends. It’s all good.”

“I figured. Told Tater and Snowy that if you had a problem with him wheeling your boy, you’d step in, but they don’t listen. I’ll get them home soon,” he finished his drink and wiggled his eyebrows.

Jack choked on his drink. “No, that’s-”

“Seriously Zimmboni, I don’t even want to know. Just say thanks and spare me the details.”

Jack helplessly finished his drink, imagination now running wild. He finished off his water and set his glass by the sink.

“God fucking damnit.”

Bitty escaped Tater and walked into the kitchen as Jack stood cursing at the sink.

“Jack? Are you okay? I can stop this. It’s not even working really. I think Tater is trying to protect my virtue.”

Jack took a deep breath.

“It isn’t working. But it’s...I’m not jealous, Bits. I’m curious.”

Bitty slumped heavily against the fridge.

“Well, that is a whole different kettle of fish.” Bitty lowered his voice to a whisper and moved closer to Jack. “What, exactly, are you curious about?”

Jack cast a look toward the living room, but no one was paying attention to the kitchen. He answered Bitty quietly.

“I wonder what he’d think if he knew you thought he was hot. If he had any idea of what’s hiding under that southern charm. What he’d do if you offered to blow him, right in front of me.”

That was a step farther than their previous Parse-based dirty talk had gotten. Since the day Jack has received that selfie, it had come up a few times, and had always been just theoretical, a fantasy. Him being there tonight was supposed to just be fodder for more of the same. But it seemed like Jack was changing the game, and if he was being honest with himself, Bitty was on board.

Bitty drew a few deep breaths and willed the beginnings of an erection away.

“Which one of us is the devil now, Jack Zimmermann?”

He leaned up to give Jack a quick kiss.

“We’ll see where we’re all at after those three leave. Now stop riling me up and let me out there so I can do my thing.”

If Kent noticed a difference in Bitty’s behavior, he didn’t show it. Poots looked quietly amused, Snowy looked confused by how flirtatious Bitty was being, and Tater still only had his eyes on Parson. 

Just a few minutes before midnight, Snowy pulled Tater to the side for a hissed conversation.

“Jack and Bitty can’t kiss at midnight without outing themselves, and I think Parson is going to go for it, we need to stop that. We can’t let Parson kiss our bro’s boyfriend!”

“Da,” Tater agreed, and Snowy rolled his eyes. It was never a good thing when Tater drank enough to start throwing Russian back into conversation. “Will take care of it.”

Certain they had a plan, Snowy watched as Tater first went over to Poots, who laughed and nodded, and then sat back down directly between Bitty and Parson, who were mid-conversation. Snowy perched on the arm of the couch, next to where Jack was standing, and gave him what he considered to be a very sober, very controlled nod. He almost fell off the couch.

Laughing, Jack caught him and settled him down into a chair while across the room Poots just shook his head in disappointment.

Tater was leaning forward, watching the countdown begin while Bitty and Parson continued their conversation, leaning in a bit behind Tater’s back. Five seconds left, and he leaned backwards, again cutting off their conversation. From his chair, Snowy blearily wondered why Poots was still sitting in his chair. Wasn’t he supposed to be getting up and kissing Bitty before Parse could get his hands on him? Did he actually forget to tell Tater that part of the plan?

Oh god. What was happening?

The ball dropped and Tater flopped over towards Bitty, dipping him back over the arm of the couch, and giving him the drunkest, sloppiest kiss Snowy had ever seen.

This was definitely not the plan. Neither, he thought drunkenly, was the feeling bloming in his chest seeing Tater kiss.

“What the HELL, Tater?” Bitty sputtered, once he was able to get free, Jack looking as shocked as everyone else.

Tater just looked pleased with himself.

“Save you! Kiss from me safer than kiss from Parson, baker boy. Save you,” Tater nodded, before yawning.

“Oh Christ on a crutch!” Bitty exclaimed. “I appreciate the thought, Tater, but I was doing just fine until you tried to breathe vodka down my throat.”

Tater looked confused and his face fell.

“I do for you and Zimmboni!”

Poots stood up. 

“That’s our cue, guys. Jack, you wanna give me a hand getting these guys out to my car? I can handle Snowy if you can grab the kiss monster.”

They manhandled their drunken teammates out the door while Kent looked on awkwardly and Bitty finished wiping the vodka slobber off his face.

“Lord, even if his face wasn’t twice the size of mine, he had horrible aim,” he laughed, settling back into his spot and shaking his head.

Kent smiled weakly and fidgeted with his hands before standing up.

“Let me help clean up a little before I head out,” he said, already grabbing a stack of plates and heading into the kitchen.

At the sink he paused and tried to collect his thoughts. He wasn’t about to lie to himself that he wasn’t attracted to Jack and Bitty. He hadn't realized he was being obvious enough for Mashkov, drunken Maskov at that, to pick up on it. He had just been responding to Bitty, after all. That thought made him crinkle his forehead. He had been responding to Bitty and flirting back. Bitty had been flirting with him, Kent was sure he hadn’t been misinterpreting it. And Jack. Jack had just watched. He hadn’t looked angry, not that Kent could remember. He’d left the room a few times, but he hadn’t said or done anything to make Kent feel unwelcome. 

Huh.

A hand pressed against his lower back and he jumped, spinning around to find Bitty, eyes mirthful, laughing at his reaction, hand still touching Kent near his waist. 

“Come on back and hang out a while more,” Bitty said (and had his eyes always been that big and dark? Kent couldn’t remember), “Jack’s just come back up from dealing with the boys. Tater threw up and got some on Jack’s shirt so he’s changing.”

“Mashkov was something, huh?” Kent asked, nervously.

“That’s about right. Although, it’s Jack’s fault, really, for not letting them know you’re in on our little secret. They’re used to intervening when we’re out in public.”

“...by kissing you?”

Bitty laughed again. “Lord no. And Tater doesn’t get drunk like this at official events. He’s going to be in so much trouble in the locker room, he’ll never live this one down.”

“It’s funny, how he thought he was saving you from being kissed by me.”

Bitty gave him a long look. “Was it? Did I look like I was in need of saving?”

Kent didn’t know how to answer that, but was saved from an embarrassing silence by Jack, now in sweatpants and a threadbare tee, dropping down onto the couch on the other side of Kent.

“If Tater forgets any of tonight, he’ll certainly remember once Poots shows everyone video,” he said, casually slinging an arm over the back of the cushion, reaching out to tweak Bitty’s shoulder.

“He did NOT get video of Tater drooling all over my face. Please tell me that did not happen.”

“No,” Jack countered, leaving his arm up behind Kent, who was quietly and subtly losing his shit. “Just video of him apologizing to me, in Russian, before hurling in the bushes outside.”

“Lord,” Bitty sighed, leaning closer, resting some of his weight against Kent’s arm.

Kent couldn’t stand it any longer.

“What’s happening here?” he blurted out, flushing with how awkwardly it came out.

Jack and Bitty shared a look, and Jack nodded his head.

“Well,” Bitty began, catching Kent's eyes and maintaining contact, “Jack is, generally, kind of a jealous guy.”

Jack's arm slid off the back of the couch and around Kent's shoulders as Bitty continued.

“And we've had a lot of fun exploring what happens when he gets jealous. He isn't jealous right now, though. He's feeling pretty generous tonight, in fact.”

Bitty moved his hand until it rested on Kent's thigh, and Kent was frozen, still watching Bitty’s face, feeling Jack's arm around him, heavy and warm.

“Generous and curious. And if you're interested, we might have an idea.”

Kent swung his head around to look at Jack, and wow, Jack already looked halfway to wrecked and Bitty was still looking at him with those giant dark eyes and Kent's heart was about to burst out of his chest.

He tried to swallow, but his mouth was so dry he ended up coughing a bit.

“I...yeah. I'm interested.”

Bitty's eyes flicked over to Jack and grinned, leaning forward to kiss Kent. 

Kent moaned softly at the sensation of Jack's arm and body against his side and Bitty’s mouth and hand, still high on Kent's thigh, squeezing rhythmically. 

Bitty broke the kiss with a small laugh, nose brushing Kent's cheek. 

“Hoped you'd be noisey,” Bitty said smugly, before swinging a leg over Kent's thighs and attaching his mouth to Kent's neck, grinding down onto his lap.

Kent let his head tip towards Jack's shoulder while Bitty explored the exposed skin.

“He's good at that, isn't he?” Jack murmured to Kent, low and damp and close. Kent hummed and made a whining noise as Bitty trailed his teeth along the rasp of Kent’s jaw.

“He's so good with his mouth, Kenny. Do you want him to show you how good he can be?” 

“Please,” Kent managed to get out, turning his face toward Jack’s, “Jack, please.”

Kissing Jack again was nothing like when they were young and sloppy and woefully lacking experience. Even though their positions on the couch limited their movement and Kent was getting a crick in his neck, Jack's mouth against his was sufficiently distracting enough that Bitty was sliding off Kent and onto the floor before Kent realized Bitty had stopped kissing him. 

Kent tore his mouth away from Jack with a groan when Bitty put his hand to the waistband of Kent's pants, fingers nimbly undoing the button and zipper.

“Lift up a second,” Jack whispered, using his hands to help Kent get enough leverage so Bitty could pull his pants and underwear over his ass, down his legs, and then fling them off to the side all in one fell swoop.

“Ready, darlin’?” Bitty asked, looking up from under his lashes.

Nodding, Kent leaned forward to cup Bitty's cheek, kissing him again briefly before brushing his thumb over his bottom lip. He drew back and leaned more into Jack, who tucked his head alongside Kent's in order to watch as his boyfriend ran his tongue up the length of Kent's cock before wrapping his lips around the head.

Kent took in a ragged breath as he struggled to keep his eyes open, to watch the man between his thighs.

“How does he look, Kenny?” Jack asked, voice gravelly and right next to Kent's ear.

“He's-Christ-he’s beautiful, Zimms,” Kent gasped, as Bitty slid his mouth further down Kent's shaft, no longer needing his hand to hold him steady. 

“His mouth looks so good, stretched around you like this. He loves this, Kenny, look at his face.”

Bitty hummed, whether in agreement or pleasure Kent was unsure, but when Bitty looked up into Kent's eyes, he winked-fucking WINKED-and pushed down the last bit to fully engulf Kent, his nose pressed right into Kent's skin.

Kent moaned, loudly, and Jack hissed in a breath, pushing his hand under the band of his sweats to wrap about his own erection. 

“Wait, Zimms, wait a second,” Kent gasped, reaching down to tug at Bitty's hair. 

He pulled off with an obscene noise, and asked, “You okay?”

“Fucking amazing, God, just let me move a minute,” he replied, adjusting his position on the couch so he could get a hand on Jack's thigh easier.

He looked up at Jack's flushed face, lips bitten and red, shifted his hand to Jack's waistband.

“This okay?” he asked Jack, tugging gently.

Jack nodded, and Bitty agreed, “Lord yes,” and Kent and Jack worked Jack's sweats down enough to rest across the tops of his thighs.

After licking Kent’s proffered hand sloppy, Bitty went back to Kent's dick, working gently until Kent found a rhythm stroking Jack’s dick. The saliva wasn't ideal, but Kent didn't think he'd last long enough for it to get uncomfortable. 

Jack twisted in a way that he knew he'd regret later, eager to get back to kissing Kent while he worked him over. 

“Fuck, Zimms, fucking come on,” Kent muttered against Jack's lips, as Bitty increased suction at the tip and brought his hand back around the base of Kent's dick.

Jack moaned and gasped a few French words that Kent hadn't heard in years, and that's all it took for Kent, Bitty working him through his orgasm. Kent lost his rhythm on Jack, who whined pitifully before wrapping his own hand around Kent's and, with a few short strokes, came over their combined hands. 

“Christ Almighty,” Bitty gasped from the floor, wiping the corners of his mouth with the bottom of his shirt before hauling it over his head and passing it up to Kent, who wiped his hands on it before gently wiping Jack off.

Tossing the soiled cloth aside, Kent reached down to pull Bitty up to him, back into his lap, and kissed him firmly, appreciatively. Jack ran his fingers up Bitty's bared spine.

“What do you need, Bitty? What do you want?” he asked, dragging his fingers against Bitty's scalp, pulling his head away from Kent just briefly.

Bitty rocked his hips against Kent's abdomen and shuddered.

“Kent, can I do this? Can I rub off on you like this?”

Kent hurried to agree and yanked his own shirt off while Jack divested Bitty of his pants and shorts.

They rearranged a bit so Kent could lean back against Jack and Jack and Bitty could kiss over Kent's shoulder as Bitty rocked and ground himself on Kent, whose hands roamed up and down Bitty's thighs and ass, whispering filthy encouraging things and suggestions.

Bitty moaned into Jack's mouth, but Kent felt it in his own chest and held Bitty tight as he came, back arching, leaving Kent's torso covered in a mess of sweat and semen.

Jack gently slid out from behind Kent, lowering him carefully down on the couch now that he wasn't supported by Jack's chest. Bitty followed Kent down, laying on top of him, right in the puddle of bodily fluids, too worn out to care. Kent tipped his head towards Jack, who answered his questioning look with,

“I'm going to go get a washcloth, I'll be right back.”

Kent settled into the cushion, resting his eyes and accepting Bittle’s warm weight, feeling more relaxed and happy than he'd felt in a long time.

He cracked an eye open when Bitty made a disgruntled noise and moved off, a warm, damp cloth wiping gently along Kent's abs, swiping over his chest, a cursory pass over his dick even though Bitty had already taken care of that.

Bitty reached a hand down to Kent to help him stand, looking as fucked out and tired as Kent felt.

“Come on, sweetheart, let's go to bed,” Bitty said, quiet and contentedly.

Kent looked at Jack, who was looking at Bitty fondly, who then turned that warm, fond look to Kent.

“Come on, Kenny. There's room for you,” he said, taking Kent's other hand and leading them all to bed.

Tucked in between Jack and Bitty, who was already breathing steadily, huffing out quiet snores, Kent rolled his face into Jack's neck and whispered in his ear,

_“Je suis heureux d'être ici avec vous.”_

Jack’s hand found Kent’s, and he responded,

_“Moi aussi.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Kent: I'm happy to be here with you [both].  
> Jack: Me too.
> 
> In the morning:  
> Jack: And to think, Bits, you were worried about scrubbing BLOOD off the upholstery.  
> Bitty: Sweet Jesus, the COUCH!
> 
> ...so you should use condoms for oral with a new partner. Don't be like these dudes. 
> 
> Also, they totally talk in the morning after a second round and decide to keep with the constant flirty texting and boning whenever geographically possible.
> 
> You can reblog this work [HERE](http://pbj-epifest.tumblr.com/post/154792443369/fic-jealous) from the pbj-epifest tumblr page!


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